


everything

by worstgirl



Category: Be More Chill - Iconis/Tracz
Genre: Depression, I have long since been kicked out of the jeremy protection squad, Intrusive Thoughts, M/M, Self Harm, Suicidal Thoughts, but not stated explicitly, clyde’s there too for a sentence, deere is implied, don’t read this if you’re easily triggered, i wasn’t sure what ‘emotionally fucked up vent fic’ would go under in ratings, it’s late and i’m tired, percy shoving her issues on jeremy pt 37, totally not a vent fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-13
Updated: 2019-06-13
Packaged: 2020-05-02 09:56:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19196533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/worstgirl/pseuds/worstgirl
Summary: Jeremy had everything he could ever want.So why did he do this?





	everything

Jeremy had everything he could ever want. An amazing boyfriend. A good friend group. His dad was taking better care of himself, he had that stupid pill voice out of his head for the most part, his grades were getting better, so why did he do this?

 

The entire house was silent. His dad was presumably asleep in his room after watching NCIS episodes on repeat, and his cat was somewhere probably eating one of his socks.

 

And Jeremy was sitting on his bed in complete darkness, staring at his laptop. He had a random webpage pulled up, but he wasn’t reading it. He could pull out his phone, text a friend, just push away the thoughts creeping into his head. He could journal it out, like all the therapists said to do. He could go eat something, since he couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten. But nothing seemed right. 

 

Well, except that one thing. But he’d promised himself, promised everyone that knew, that he wouldn’t do it anymore. As his fingers tapped on his keyboard, so rapidly that he could hear the tiny click from the spacebar like an odd EDM backbeat, he tried not to think about it too much.

 

He could just ignore it. Push away the urge. It wasn’t that hard, honestly, he’d been doing it for a month at least. He didn’t want to break his cycle. But not thinking about it was as bad as thinking about it, because he couldn’t lose himself in that thought, because it would lead to him doing shit he’d regret.

 

Maybe he could text a friend, if any of them would be up at eleven. They probably were. He could text Michael, he knew Jeremy’s head better than anyone. But he didn’t want to bother him. He could text Christine, even if just to hear her rant about theater. That’d work as a distraction. But she was probably asleep. He could text Jake, but no fucking way was he telling his boyfriend that he wanted to do  _ it  _ again, because, well… he wanted to be perfect. He wanted to give him everything he deserved and help him without dealing with his own bullshit.

 

God, why was he so fucked up? It wasn’t just from that stupid pill. No, he was awful before that. Insecure. Pushed around. Terrified. Crying at everything. Paranoid. The SQUIP had just heightened those.

 

No, no thinking of the word, of the thing’s name, it was like Voldemort. Say the name, and all the memories come flooding back with such intensity that it made him want to sob. 

 

It was too much. The words swirled in his head like a swarm of bees without a queen. He’d read that in a book somewhere— that bees would take off and fly somewhere in search of a new queen, like a kid that’s lost their mother. Like he had a bother he could fly off and find. He was just a hive without the mind, a useless drone that couldn’t even think for itself without wanting to die.

 

No. He couldn’t think that. If he did that, he’d be admitting it to himself.  _ Everything about me makes me wanna— _

 

No, no no no. Shut up, brain, shut up! He didn’t want to be doing this. He had things to do. Homework, studying, even playing the next level of Zelda in his new game. But what was the point? It wasn’t like he could ever get a job at this rate. Not when his grades were so low from the drop in his mental health and motivation after the… thing took over. 

 

Maybe if he just got up and did the goddamn job he was supposed to, he could shut up the thoughts. Wait, he wasn’t supposed to.

 

But he wanted to.

 

No, he didn’t, he only thought he did. He only thought it would give him a high he didn’t achieve. But in an odd way, it did. 

 

He got up from his bed, stepping around the objects on the floor that he knew were there, since they hadn’t moved for weeks. He had no reason to move them. 

 

He fumbled in his desk drawer. Where was that goddamn box, where did he put it? Finally, he closed his fingers around it, the corner digging into his palm a bit. What the hell was he doing, was he insane? 

 

Maybe he was.

 

He opened the box. Did his hands always shake this much, or was it just because of what he was about to do? 

 

The metal was familiar between his fingers. That was kind of sick, how much he’d gotten used to it. Even after a month, he still remembered how it felt, how cold it was, how much it stung as he dug it in. 

 

He didn’t have to.

 

Yes, he did.

 

He’d have to tell someone.

 

Why? They didn’t actually care.

 

Yes, they did.

 

God, he just wanted his brain to shut up. He tugged his shirt up— the others had healed mostly, turning into raised bumps on his side. It was kind of gross. Did no one else see it? Feel it? Did no one care? 

 

Then he took a breath. Just a few. Then he’d put it away, push his shirt down, and ignore it for another week, until he got into a routine of feeling sorry for himself and making himself bleed. It wasn’t like he didn’t do it in other ways— a nail digging into his wrist or scratching at his thigh. Just enough to hurt. Brooke had handed him her hairtie once, and he’d snapped that a few times. It had turned his skin raw and pink, but it worked. 

 

He stared down at the tiny thing in between his thumb and forefinger. Not even the length of his thumb, and it had hurt him so much. No, he had hurt him. 

 

He reached down, pressing it to his side. He could still stop himself. Someone could text him right then, and he could stop this insanity. But no. He dug it in and dragged it across, holding back a hiss of pain. It burned, almost, his hand shaking so hard he felt like he was going to end up making it a zigzag instead of a straight line. And before he could control it, two more in rapid succession. 

 

The red beaded at his side, not that he could tell colours well in the dark. He knew what it looked like, though.

 

His brain had shut up, pacified. But he was left with one question.

 

Why did he do this? Everything was getting better.

 

Because while he had everything, he still felt like nothing. 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> wow i am not okay but fuck it have this as content
> 
> this is how people cope right
> 
> stay safe, stay wonderful, and don’t do the shit i do, loves.
> 
> (also yeah i changed my username deal with it)
> 
> ~percy


End file.
